A Series of Unrelated Events
by Morumotto-sempai
Summary: A bunch of random nonsense that has to do somewhat with Harry Potter. I think o.O


:::A Series of Unrelated Events:::  
  
Chapter One: Humbugs and Nubbins  
  
Author's note: I do not own anything except the refrigerator box Chauncey and I live in.  
  
It was a crappy crappy crappy crappy day- just how Voldemort liked it. Foggy, snowy, and stormy. Well, I guess it would be a good day.because Voldemort like it. But, if Voldemort likes bad days and hates good days, then he would like that day, and it would be a good day, but he hates good days.oh, whatever! It's not important and neither are YOU!  
  
NO! I didn't mean that.  
  
Ok. It was a totally random, general, and otherwise NON-SPECIFIC day, and the most evilly evil and old Lord Voldemort the snaky was sitting on a very regular chair with no cushions. And tassels! And he was wearing slippers, because he's really old.  
  
"Popsy!" came a voice from the window, and Voldemort got up very slowly and hobbled over to the door. His hands trembled with oldness as he turned the doorknob and was greeted by very nonspecific weather.  
  
"Popsy!" exclaimed.Bellatrix Lestrange! The suspense was killing you, wasn't it?  
  
"Bella!" Voldemort croaked, lifting his arms up to about the height of his shoulders and embracing Bellatrix, long fingers an' all.  
  
"You don't look good, Popsy," Bellatrix said as she shut the door behind her, "Maybe you could hire a few more Death Eaters."  
  
"Preposterous!" Voldemort wheezed, making his way back to his chair, "You know I can't accept applications anymore- Gumby's got too many spies!"  
  
"Dumbledore, Popsy! This is what I'm talking about! You're getting old and that body double is slacking off again! He was spotted at a Stubby Boardman look-alike competition!  
  
"Bah!" Voldemort huffed, "Don't bother me with this! I can hardly believe you're my granddaughter anymore! We never do anything fun together nowadays!"  
  
Bellatrix sighed and sank into a large recliner, "I know, Popsy, but it gets overwhelming, trying to kill the most protected child in the whole world!" she snapped.  
  
"Bella! You're supposed to kill Harry Potter, not.not." Voldemort trailed off, forgetting his eccentric and silly answer  
  
"I'm doing the best that I can, Popsy," Bellatrix sighed.  
  
Outside, in the totally non-important and unmentioned weather, were (was?) none other than Fred and George Weasely!  
  
"There he is!" whispered Fred excitedly, hiding in the bushes with George.  
  
"Gee." whispered George, "Who would've guessed he'd be in a cottage in Kyrgyzstan?"  
  
"Me," Fred answered, "Duh."  
  
"Yeah, that's why you're the smart, funny twin and I'm the unpopular sidekick," George lamented.  
  
"Hey, man, one of us got a nubbin, one of us didn't, that's just the way it is."  
  
"Yeah, yeah," George said, sighing heavily, "I'm just tired of helping you to your punch line."  
  
"Quit complaining!" Fred snapped, "Besides- we should rehearse! Ahem, 'Why did the chicken cross the road?'"  
  
George rolled his eyes, "'I don't know, Fred, why did the chicken cross the road?'"  
  
"Perfect- so what are we going to do about You-Know-Who?"  
  
George's jaw dropped, "I don't know.we didn't rehearse that, did we?"  
  
"You're useless. I say we lure him out of the house, and spray cooking spray on the street so he falls and dislocates his hip!" Fred suggested.  
  
George nodded enthusiastically, "Why didn't I think of that?" he wondered out loud.  
  
"George- do I have to explain the mysterious powers of the nubbin to you again?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then quit you're yappin' and go oil the road!" Fred ordered, shoving the cooking spray into his hands.  
  
Inside the house.  
  
"Now, how about a peppermint humbug?" Lord Voldemort coaxed.  
  
"No, thanks, Popsy," Bellatrix said quickly, shrinking away from him.  
  
"You used to love 'em when you were a girl," he argued, "C'mon."  
  
"No!" she shrieked, ducking behind her chair,  
  
Voldemort grinned and pulled out a lint-covered peppermint humbug from his pocket and held it out.  
  
"Popsyyyy!" she screeched, "You know I'm microphobic!"  
  
Voldemort grinned evilly, "Ok, ok," he reassured her, holding the peppermint behind his back.  
  
Bellatrix sighed, relieved and walked out from behind the chair, "Now, about your leg-waxing appointment."  
  
"Look!" Voldemort yelled, pointing his finger, "Death Eaters!"  
  
"Where-"  
  
"Ha!" Voldemort exclaimed, chucking the sticky fuzzy candy at her back. It stuck to the back of her robes like...something sticky.  
  
"AYEEEEE!" Bellatrix screamed, running around the house, "LATEX GLOVES! I NEED LATEX GLOVES!"  
  
"It's no use! I haven't had latex gloves in the house since my infection cleared up!" Voldemort called.  
  
"You crazy old coot!" she screeched, flailing her arms, "Where's my wand?"  
  
"It rolled under the couch," Voldemort said innocently.  
  
Bellatrix shuddered and threw her robes on the floor, "Do you know how many dust mites live under there?!"  
  
Voldemort began to laugh hysterically.  
  
"What is so funny?"  
  
Voldemort pointed his (inexplicably long) finger at her.  
  
Bellatrix Lestrange was wearing a rapper outfit; complete with a diamond encrusted necklace that said 'Yo'.  
  
"What's all that ding-dong?" Voldemort guffawed.  
  
"Bling-bling, Popsy," Bellatrix grumbled, her cheeks flushed red.  
  
Voldemort laughed even louder, slapping his knee.  
  
"I've sort of.been doing some rapping in my spare time," she admitted, embarrassed, fiddling with her baggy jeans.  
  
"Rapping?" Voldemort said, "Wrapping what?"  
  
Bellatrix rolled her eyes, "I don't have time for this. Those are my favourite robes! If I can't Apparate, I'll just walk to the store and get them dang gloves."  
  
Voldemort continued to giggle hysterically, wetting his old man pants as Bellatrix stormed out of the house and down the driveway.  
  
"I don't know, chicken, why did Fred ross the croad? Dammit!" George whispered, walking back to the bushes with an empty can of cooking spray in his hand. He felt underneath his shirt absentmindedly.  
  
"Oh merciless gods, WHY HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN ME?" he called into the night, "Why didn't I get a nubbin??"  
  
"George, shut up!" Fred hissed from the bushes, "I hear him coming!"  
  
George grumbled and dove back into the bush, "How'd you get him out?" he asked.  
  
Fred rolled his eyes and ignored him. He did have a nubbin, after all.  
  
"Here he comes!" George exclaimed, for lack of anything interesting to say.  
  
"Sup, dude, trippin'." Bellatrix mumbled under her breath, practicing for the annual convention in Belarus.  
  
"Hey, that's not-"  
  
"Shut up, you illiterate fool!" Fred hissed.  
  
Suddenly, without any warning (except that fact that we knew all along!) there was a piercing shriek as Bellatrix tripped and started to slide down the road.  
  
"FRICTION!" she yelled, "I need friction! Where's Ms. Frizzle when you need her?"  
  
"Awesome!" cheered George.  
  
"Awesome? Dude, nobody uses that word anymore," Fred laughed, "The new word of the millennium is 'Shoulder pads.'"  
  
"Wow! Shoulder pads!" George exclaimed.  
  
"Don't even get me started on 'wow', man."  
  
And so, Bellatrix slid all the way to town, finally hitting a stop sign. George had really done a good job with the cooking spray. She stumbled into a nearby convenience store, called 'Walter's One-Stop Shop'.  
  
"Don't ever smile at me again, you lazy immigrant!" yelled a local, storming out as the white-haired man behind the counter cried.  
  
"I wish I was back in Kentucky!" he wailed, throwing his hands up in despair.  
  
Bellatrix ignored him and grabbed a box of latex gloves and a couple of chocolate bars, paying for them as the old man wept and sang of the Old Country. She walked outside and sat on the curb, next to a homeless man named Chauncey (who appears in the 4th chapter of '2003- Year of the Wham. A very bad fan fic- but a very good chapter!).  
  
"Weren't you sliding down that road a few minutes ago?" he asked.  
  
Bellatrix scowled and didn't answer, considering herself above him. Besides, her pride and her backside were still sore.  
  
"Dude! I'm talking to you!" he said, pointing at her. His fingernail was dirty and smelled of rotten tapioca (does tapioca rot?).  
  
"Ewww! Ok ok! Yes, it was me!" she said, her microphobia winning again.  
  
"And you stopped?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And you bought chunkeys," he said, pointing to the convenience store bag.  
  
"Yes." Bellatrix answered, looking from the man to the chocolate bars.  
  
"YOU DON'T STOP FOR CHUNKEYS!" he shouted, waving his unsanitary arms.  
  
"He n'arette jamais pour les chunkeys!" sang the crazy French-speaking chicken from Mexico. The people around them all smiled and joined in the jingle.  
  
"This is our favourite song!" said a random pedestrian.  
  
So everybody sang the 'Corpulent Caterers' jingle and were happy. Then, when Bellatrix has finished her chocolate bars they ran her out of town, while the chicken read the ingredients of the bar in French.  
  
Author's note: Please review! Chauncey compels you! Oh yes, and Kyrgyzstan is an actual country, no matter what my spell-checker says! 


End file.
